The Thin Line
by lolainslackss
Summary: The one thing that Jessica Day is certain of is that her co-worker, Nick Miller, is her absolute worst enemy. But she's about to find out that sometimes there's a thin line between wanting to kill someone, and wanting to kiss them. Office AU. Nick/Jess.


(Oh, hi! First, I just want to say that the idea for this story, and some elements of the plot, are hugely inspired by Sally Thorne's novel, _The Hating Game_. I really recommend the novel, which is a wonderful love-hate story, full of sexual tension. Anyway! I just wanted to mention it, as it was my inspiration for starting this fanfiction. :) I hope you enjoy.)

...

 _ **The Thin Line**_

Chapter 1 / Enemies

This is why I hate Nick Miller:

It was my first day of my new job. I was fresh out of working at a restaurant - a desperate endeavour that made me cry myself to sleep at night. Working as a receptionist in a law firm was hardly my dream job, but I was excited to start. I could finally work hours that made sense. I could finally wear cute clothes to work. There was only a slim possibility I would come home smelling like soup. I could learn _new skills_ and meet _new people_ and update my _résumé_!

This is how it happened: I had practised my 'telephone manner'. I had practised touch typing. I had studied a dictionary of legal terms. I had perfected the art of saying, 'Mr Marlborough will see you now' in my most professional-yet-friendly tone. I had adjusted my high-waisted, vintage polka-dot skirt three times. I had applied and re-applied lipstick. I got there fifteen minutes early.

It was Mr Marlborough himself who was there to greet me. A tall, slender older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a warm handshake, Mr Marlborough had recently taken full control of the law firm following the passing of his partner, the late Mr Newman.

We rode the elevator to the top floor, where the firm's office was located. The doors pinged open and that was that. My new workplace. I took it all in. The décor immediately reminded me of a trendy bar, rather than an office.

"My partner had an eye for interior design." Mr Marlborough explained to me.

"Very...modern." I commented. I really needed to come up with a witty catchphrase or something.

"This will be your desk." He told me proudly, gesturing to the metallic slab before us. The computer itself looked like it cost more than a couple of month's rent.

"And this," He continued, "Is my PA, Nick Miller. Nick joined us about a year ago after he graduated with his own law degree. Thankfully, he didn't pursue opening his own firm, otherwise I might be out of business."

"Now that's not true, is it?" Quipped the man I assumed to be Nick Miller.

This was my first impression of him: cute, in a kind of dishevelled way. His brown suit was immaculate, but his rough stubble and tired eyes were not what I would normally associate with a business guy. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly already bored by the conversation. Nope, _not cute at all_.

"This is Jessica Day, our new receptionist. I'd like you to keep an eye on her, make sure she finds her feet here." Mr Marlborough told him.

"It's just Jess," I said, offering my hand and giving him my most winning, please-like-me smile.

"Right," Nick Miller said, shaking my hand non-committedly and scanning me with his brown eyes, unimpressed. I was suddenly self-conscious of the polka dots and pussy bow. Too much? Not enough? I couldn't tell, and I hated it.

"Nick's desk is right over here," Mr Marlborough told me, "Just opposite your own. If you have any problems, let him know, okay?"

"Sure!" I exclaimed. I had to restrain myself from giving him a peppy salute. Why was I suddenly incapable of putting together a sentence? I was Jessica Day, nothing less than a great talker. My nerves were getting the better of me.

"Can I trust you to show our girl around?" He muttered to Nick Miller, obviously too busy to continue with the tour himself. I deflated a bit. Mr Marlborough was so friendly, and Nick Miller just, well, _wasn't_.

Nick Miller nodded and then we were left to entertain ourselves. In silence.

"You don't have to like, babysit me," I found myself saying, "Like, I'm sure I can, you know, find the break room and girls' toilets and stuff. Those are the only rooms to care about anyway, am I right?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"So, yeah, if you need to go back to your desk and stuff, that's fine," I babbled, idiotically, "I'm pretty sure I can find my desk. It's not like I need a map - it's right over here!"

I gesticulated comically to my ugly desk.

Nick Miller continued to stare at me.

"So I'll start answering the phone and stuff, I guess?" I was grinning like a maniac by then. God, he made me feel so uptight. My cheeks were starting to hurt. Why didn't he just _say something_ instead of looking at me like I had just arrived from the planet Jupiter with horns coming out of my teeth?

"So, you're dismissed," I said, with what I thought was a playful wink, "Go on, get outta here!"

"I get it," Nick Miller finally said.

"What?" I asked, flustered. This wasn't how my first interaction with one of my new co-workers was supposed to go. I was supposed to dazzle with my Portland charm, amuse with my witty catchphrases.

That was the moment Nick Miller looked straight at me and said, "You're _that girl_."

Even now, I think about that statement and wonder, _what the_ _ **fudge**_ _does that mean?_ 'You're _that girl_ '. That girl. _That_ _girl_? That's all he said before going back to his desk and ignoring me all day. Even when I had a printer malfunction, he just stared and stared, enjoying my misery.

And so, _that_ , alongside many other real and legitimate reasons, is why I absolutely despise Nick Miller.

Three months later, and he is still my sworn, deadly enemy. I have never thrived off such hate before. It's just not in my nature. My war with Nick Miller, however, is actually, in some ways, making me a better person.

I am definitely a better worker. At some point in time, it became a kind of competition between us to see who could get to work first. This resulted in us both being _super early_ pretty much every day. The two of us sit in the office, soaking up the poisonous tension in the air, until everyone else arrives, perplexed.

I also _have_ to be a better worker, because he is constantly trying to outdo me. Our biggest arguments arise when he steps on my toes. Not literally but professionally. He seems to think that because he is Mr Marlborough's PA, it's _his job_ to announce and introduce visiting clients. I don't think so, bucko. That is most definitely the receptionist's job. We can argue about that one for hours.

It's gotten to the point where we can get silly and petty.

For instance, right now, he's engaging me in a staring competition. He can't beat me. I could stare at those poop-brown eyes for hours without blinking and losing. The problem is that right now, my phone is ringing. That's an issue. People are beginning to look over. I grit my teeth, blink down hard, and answer the phone.

 _Your round Miller._

When I look up, he's smirking. When he catches me glancing his way, he immediately straightens his face.

That's another silly thing we do. If either of us make the other smirk, then that's a victory too. The smirker loses. _Yes_. _My round_. I clench my fist in victory under my desk and go back to e-mailing clients.

When we leave at night, he catches up with his friends: Schmidt, who handles advertising space and website management (and who has never spoken to me before), and Winston, who works on the floor below us (and who I always enjoy sharing an elevator ride with). It's a P.I.'s office, but all I ever hear is meowing, so who knows what they're investigating down there. I wait, and leave last, so I don't have to share an elevator with them. They're off to a bar to drink and relax and probably talk to girls. Don't know, don't care.

I, on the other hand, am on my way home, feeling lonelier than ever.

...

These are the things I know about Nick Miller:

His Facebook privacy settings are very relaxed.

That said, his Facebook profile reveals nothing I don't already know. He's a law graduate. His home town is Chicago. There are lots of picture of him in bars, lots of picture of him with his chums.

No relationship status.

There are plenty of girls with him in photos, however. Years and years of Nick Miller and girls who look like they could be models. I have no idea what they see in him. _Poop-eyes_.

He goes out drinking after work most nights, but never comes to work hungover.

His desk is a mess. On the outside it looks neat and tidy, but his drawers are full of junk.

He doesn't keep a planner. I have no idea how he keeps track of meetings and appointments. Once he picked up my meticulously-organised, colour-coded day-planner and scoffed. I stuck post-its all over his computer screen in revenge.

He sweetens his own coffee when he makes it, but tells anyone else making it that he likes it plain.

He never shaves nor grows a beard, but instead always has the same annoying amount of stubble. That implies a certain amount of personal grooming.

While he doesn't have a planner, he _does_ have a leather-bound journal that he occasionally scribbles in on afternoons, when he doesn't think anyone's looking. Who _knows_ what that means. I aim to find out someday.

He seems to enjoy being a rude, grumpy jerk who hates smiling and happiness and well, everything.

He seems to enjoy making my life a misery and generally driving me crazy.

He is, and forever will be, my enemy.

...

I miss living with my best friend Cece. We always had such a great time. We'd drink pink wine and make fun of reality TV and fall asleep together on the couch. I moved out to go live with a boyfriend. That was a mistake. Now I'm in a huge apartment that I can't afford and that is too big for me. I can't go back, though. She lives with her model friends now.

I breathe in and breathe out.

Then I call her.

"Babe!" Is her answer, "What's up?"

"Hey- I just- I had a shitty day at work and wanted to-" I begin.

"I can't hear you!" She yells down the phone, "Let me go outside."

"Are you out just now?" I ask, restraining myself from asking where my invitation was.

"Yeah!" She sounds ecstatic. "You should come!"

"I don't think so. It's a Thursday." I mutter darkly.

"So? Come on! One drink, Jess!" She's saying it over and over. My heart swells up. My best friend wants me to join her and I'm already on my feet and heading for my bedroom.

 _Take that, Miller,_ I think to myself. _You're not the only one who can party on a school night_.

I slip on my favourite black dress and make sure to line my eyes so they're blacker-than-black. I feel a tiny bubble of excitement inflate inside my stomach. It's been so long since I went out. With the new job, and new schedule, and, obviously, the race to get to work earliest, things have been pretty hectic. Staying out late just felt...irresponsible. But if other people in the office can do it, then why shouldn't I? I perform the _Single Ladies_ dance in the mirror just to prove a point to myself.

Then I run out into the night.

...

I wake up on Cece's floor.

I'm still in my dress. My hair's tied in a bundle on top of my head, and there are about twelve plastic straws adorning said bundle. My mouth is dry and tastes terrible. My limbs are stringy and sore. My head pounds as I bold upright. I scramble for my bag and my phone, blinking at the sudden, harsh brightness of the screen.

 _9:10 A.M._

"No!" I yell, jumping up. I've lost. _And_ I'm late. I'm not sure which is worse.

"Cece!" I shout, flicking on the light. From under a blanket on the couch, she groans.

"Cece, I know this isn't really the best time ever, but do you have _any_ cute business clothes?" I ask, running to the mirror to tidy up my hair and rub at the dark smudges under my eyes.

"Only. Stupid. Model. Clothes." Cece grumbles from beneath the blanket.

"I'll just have to wear this, then, I guess." I say, hating the whine in my voice. I straighten and re-assess. At the very least, it's a plain black dress, and at least my hair is already up. What's more is that Cece's place is close to the office. I'm a little bit late. It's not the worst thing in the world to happen. What _is_ the worst thing in the world is that I might not make it to work without throwing up.

I hurriedly brush my teeth with Cece's toothbrush, make a silent promise to replace it as soon as possible, and run out the door.

...

"Hey Day, big night out or what?" Miller is almost-smirking. Which is an almost-win. Which isn't really a win at all.

"None of your business, Miller." I mutter. Not my best comeback of all time, but in my defence, I might be dying.

He won't let it go, however, and before I know it, he's at my desk.

"No, really, it looks like you came straight from a party," He goes on, "This look suits you, though. Way better than your 1960s librarian outfits."

I press my lips together, annoyed. He hesitates a second, as if he's said something wrong. I bristle.

"Then if you like it so much, you can go admire it, from _over there_ ," I eye his desk pointedly.

"Not very friendly this morning," He continues, relaxing into the familiarity of our bickering, "What happened to all the sunshine and singsongs? I thought that was your thing."

"Not while you're around, Miller." I counter darkly.

"Well, I thought I'd tell you that Marlborough wants to speak with you." He says.

"Why didn't you tell me, you jerk?" I snap, rising from my seat.

"I _am_ telling you," He says, and it might be the hangover talking but I think I see hurt flashing in his eyes, "You're welcome for covering for you, by the way."

"Whatever," I say, hurrying to Mr Marlborough's office, and ignoring the way Nick Miller's eyes travel over my black dress.

I knock on the door to Marlborough's office, sweating. I silently wish I'm not in trouble. After all, Nick Miller would never cover for me.

"Sir?" I say, opening the door. "Miller said you'd like to see me."

"Ah, Jessica," Marlborough greets me, motioning me inside, "Just the girl I was looking for. Nick told me you were out on a coffee run. Very generous."

"Yeah," I say, surprised, "I- uh- I didn't get you one because I know you avoid caffeine on Fridays?"

He laughs and nods. I breathe out a sigh of a relief.

"Yes, well, I wanted to ask if you could organise a staff training day. Something festive, but appropriate. Something to boost morale and teamwork and all those other things, without being, you know, old and stuffy. Does that sound like something you could organise?" He asks me.

"Sure," I reply, slightly flustered. This wasn't what I was expecting.

"Great. I was thinking we could take next Friday off for it." He tells me.

"Do you know what you'd like for us to do, or-?" I go on.

"I trust you, Jessica. Do some research and make a booking." Marlborough says warmly, and with that, I am dismissed.

I walk back to my desk feeling pleased with myself. I feel Nick Miller's annoying gaze follow me back to my seat.

I look back. Then divert my eyes to my computer. I have no time for a staring competition today.

However, as I begin typing, so does he. I stop. He stops. I flex my fingers. He does the same. I begin typing again. He's right there with me. I sigh and stand up. He follows suit. I snatch my mug from my desk. He mimics the same action. We glare at one another, and I'm not sure how to win this one. I sit back down, and he does too. I suppress a smirk and stick out my tongue.

Then, I think about how I can potentially use the staff training day to completely screw over Nick Miller.


End file.
